


A Double Edged Feather

by yaomomochi



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Ballet AU, F/M, Like the slowest burn i have ever written, Slow Burn, platonic intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7349932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaomomochi/pseuds/yaomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As performers, they've always worn a mask on stage, but will this performance show their true colors?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“I’m sorry, Miss Kirishima. He won’t be here.”

And from that moment on, she was a lone swan.

That silvery tutu felt like a shroud of chains around her waist, weighing her spirits and grounding her wings. Suddenly the costume was too much, dragging her to the ground, pulling her under until her lungs swelled with something thicker than mud. The urge to cry hit her like a dart, stabbing so hard against her side that she was overcome with the need to scream. But she didn’t. _How could he do this to her? Where had he gone?_ Surely, there must be reason. And she would find out someday, just.... not now. Now, she needed to focus. She didn't have time to run her throat ragged nor her mind dizzy. Instead, she took a single, deep breath and held her head up. The girl trudged on, forcing herself from behind the blood red velvet curtains, sauntering across the wooden stage with a soft smile carved into her features. As she moved across the stage, she let her mind wander, her muscles remembering the eloquent steps on their own accord. The girl danced that evening and the evening after that, with all the grace and majesty she could muster, but no amount of pirouettes could fling the memory of him from her mind. He was like the axis, and she was stuck spinning around the thought of him. Pearly white feathers flew as she twirled, waving to the crowds like flags of surrender.

_He won’t be here._

The situation was simple enough. The lead hadn't shown up, it wasn't like the whole theatre was in flames. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Not a single audience member could be bothered to notice a missing dancer, or a new understudy. They only cared for the haughty experience. Rich velvet curtains framed the stage where magnificent dancers did their time; and when their bodies wore out, they were cast aside, scraping for the awe and praise they'd been thriving against the cold concrete of what felt like death's row. But even those audience members seated in best seats couldn't see that; they wanted to see the dancers for dancers, and nothing more. The audience was full, cheering and smiling when they were supposed to, whispering to one another as they held gold outlined Galilean binoculars to their eyes like insects. They swarmed the the sophisticated theatre every year. The awestruck masses seemed oblivious to the girl bound to the tutu, gazes mesmerized by the shimmering feathers that bounced and flounced with every step, just _waiting_ for the right moment to latch their praise to their precious swan of the year. They were only elegantly dressed blobs in the shadows of the theatre; they all looked the same, like a grey sea anchored to the depths with their gaudy jewels. This grey sea stretched on and on, growing darker as the tiers of seats climbed to the painted ceilings. They couldn’t know that metallic taste flooding the inside of her mouth, the wrenching twist in her stomach, the rigid way her fingers fell against her new partner’s. They didn’t notice that her gaze fell on the them like they watched her: overwhelmed with awe and blind to them as anything but another piece of the set. When the show was over, they would recede like the tide, waiting to crash the theatre and mull over the new performers and forget their names. It made her stomach bubble like lava; beautiful and rich people were hardly as courteous as they were revered; they were just better at concealing their true selves. And that, was frightening.

The world outside the stage was dark and ominous. But the rhinestones on her leotard could go on blinding the crowd, and the girl behind the sparkles would be safe from the disapproving daggers of their glares and their well versed cuts of criticism. As long as she stayed in that elegant white costume, her tutu could keep her safe.

So she hadn’t taken it off since that day. She kept those pearly blades cinched around her waist like a vice. It was an accident, really. She hadn’t meant to, but the jagged edges of the tulle fanned out around her, stretching farther and sharper every day. Eventually, she forgot she had it on. She went about her life, gradually becoming more and more isolated, until the emptiness behind her ribs was unbearable. But every time she reached out and tried to get close to someone, they faded away just as soon as they came. People seemed to cower from her, backing away with with cuts and scratches, backing away from _her_ , so far until bright eyes and warm words became greyed blurs. So the girl stayed solo, sinking herself beneath the ragged waters of life, tied down by the understanding now that everyone would fade away eventually. It was only human nature, not like swans or any other majestic creatures, who stayed together for life. She should't have put so much faith in that one boy. Because, well....

_He wasn’t there._

She was a lone swan, drowning in her own lake.

But all that would soon change. 

With or without him, _the girl refused to suffocate._


	2. Hatching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (platonic intimacy is a thing in this chapter)

Swimming in deep water is never easy, especially when the current is against you.

To put it simply, Touka Kirishima had it rough.

She was definitely not the average ballerina. Besides the fact she was exactly an inch below the standard acceptance for any ballet company, the girl had short, wispy hair that refused to stay in that scalp tugging chignon, and floppy uneven bangs. Bangs, which were apparently a sort of taboo hairstyle at the New York Ballet Company. Her light, wisteria irises looked blue under the fluorescent lighting, and her paper white skin against her stark raven locks did nothing to impress the New York City elites. When she’d arrived in the city, she had a cotton leotard and a worn pair of silk pink slippers. She stood out in the worst way; the only thing worse than being average, was being _below_ average. The girl was constantly reminded of that detail like a thorn in her side, every time she walked through the heavy glass doors of the ballet company. It was tiring to have everything against her, and even more exhausting always paddling, kicking, fighting against the current. 

Nevertheless, she’d done it.

Before she’d even landed in the states, she’d landed an audition at the New York City Ballet Company.  In Japan, she’d been one of the top dancers in her class, _the_ prima ballerina . Her teachers and peers alike had praised her for her fluid motions and the subtle way of making the stage her own.  But the United States was different.  The judges were cold as they were cordial, barely sympathetic of her minimal knowledge of the strange English language. After her audition, they'd made snide comments, just polite enough to be said aloud. They hardly appreciated her subtle charm; apparently it was _too_ subtle, so faint that they could barely see any appeal at all to the tiny wannabe ballerina. Tight smiles and a waving motion towards the door had dismissed her, and she'd gone home with the heaviest of rainclouds looming over her despicable bangs. Rumors had traveled that they almost hadn’t let her into the ballet company, if it weren’t for a couple of insiders with the same heritage and an odd obligation to keep the cast just a touch anomalous.

The memory of the day she'd received her acceptance letter played vividly in her mind ever other night. It had been a chilly day, even for New York. Snow had fallen, tall enough to meet her around her waist as she had shuffled onto the balcony of her tiny studio apartment. As she'd admired the wintry skyline, the watery hot chocolate had burned the tip of her tongue, and would've just as easily burned her fingertips if she hadn't been wearing her wool gloves. The heat pooling on her tongue had been a sore reminder of another sore spot in her mind, and she grumbled as she slipped on a worn pair of leggings and slippers. The lock on her door had been sticking due to the cold, she remembered jerking the stubborn silver open and jabbing her elbow against the wall in the process. Still, she’d trudged down the hall and stomped down the stairs, eventually making her way down to the basement level where her mail cubby would probably sit empty. But, that day, to her most genuine surprise, to her mailbox was stuffed full with a magnificent envelope shoved inside. The entire letter took up the entire space in the narrow metal box. Ripping the shimmering envelope from it's little metal cage, she stood in awe until a passerby elbowed his way past. Ignoring the rude interruption to her little epiphany, the girl returned to her dumbfounded state. The envelope practically shouted _SUCCESS!_ It was large and shiny, and her letters were embossed in impressive inky cursive. She hadn’t been able to wait, taking the stairs by two as she hurried back to her room on the fourteenth floor.

Her excitement ripped from from her throat as she freed the letter from its cozy envelope. She’d shouted from her balcony, barely feeling the sting of winter dampening the hem of her long navy sweater and fluffy white socks.

Then, she’d called her friend.

“Hide, _Hide!_ Are you listening?” She’d babbled excitedly, trading from Japanese to English as she shoved the news into his ear, reading the letter again and again, until she could practically recite it from memory. _“I got in!”_

He’d hung up on her that day, but the girl didn’t even have the capacity to feel angry, twirling across her heated wooden floors and clutching the letter to her chest. It was ridiculous how a simple, 500 word letter could make her feel so validated. She felt strong, accomplished, almost powerful with her spot secured at the New York Ballet Company. Still, as trivial as she felt, Touka was overjoyed; almost as ecstatic as she'd been the first time she'd gotten a lead in her old company's production. She'd still been whirling around her living room fifteen minutes after she'd hung up with Hide, orbiting in her own little world until she’d heard a knock on her door. Careless to the blissful flush to her cheeks and unkempt hair, she’d answered, too full of adrenaline to notice that her leotard may look a bit like lingerie beneath her sloppy sweater.

She'd barely cracked the door open when a party popper shot confetti over her head, the colorful mess raining down on her as Hide snatched her up in his arms, squeezing and telling her how proud he was. After a complete sixty second hug, he'd set her down, his warmth still lingering on her shoulders. He’d offered to take her for cheesecake, but she’d declined; of course, now she’d have to be even more careful to avoid any possibilities for criticism. He’d shooed her rain check out of the air like he was clearing smoke, instead telling her that she wouldn’t start at the new company for another week, he promised she’d burn the calories by then. She’d accepted, pretending to be somewhat reluctant as they ordered the desert before heading back to her place to share a dark chocolate, raspberry infused slice. Hide had simply laughed, thumbing the dark syrup from the corner of her mouth. The girl’s cheeks turned magenta like the tiny pieces of fruit leftover on the Styrofoam box, but she’d offered him a ghost of a smile as her forehead drooped against his shoulder, smile still playing her features.

Later that evening, he’d kissed her.

That had been three years ago now, and everything had seemed to go up from there. She and Hide were both 21 now, which was apparently much more exciting in America than it was in Japan. Nevertheless, the girl barely had time to celebrate, as she'd immediately, she’d enrolled in online university classes. After a full ten hours of dance, she'd come home and listen to the lectures and study, making days feel more like an entire year crammed into a single 24 hours. While she was at the studio, she tried to forget her studies and simply danced, always rehearsing for her minor parts in the winter production of the Nutcracker. In her first year, she’d not even earned a place in a major production. Her hopes had been shot, but the girl kept on going, determined to make her way against the current. In her second year, she was cast as an snow flake, simply a piece of the background. In the next year, she’d earned her place as the Sugar Plum Fairy’s third understudy. Now that it was her fourth year, Touka wanted nothing more than a place as Clara. She hadn’t gotten it, instead earning a place as the Sugar Plum Fairy’s immediate understudy. She hadn’t minded, though. Watching from the wings was just as exciting, and the pressure not nearly as extreme. Still, Hide had come to every single performance, supporting her from the nosebleed section and always taking her for cheesecake afterward. Overall, the year had been kind to her. Plus, those naughty bangs that her peers had hinted more than once that she needed to grow out, were finally _just barely_  long enough to fit into her high bun. So she couldn’t complain.

“It’s already January 2nd now,” the kind voice called over the couch, a toasty brew of hazelnut coffee mingling itself into the room’s aroma. Touka scrunched her nose. She could do without the hazelnut, but Hide liked it, so she wouldn’t complain. The soft _pad pad pad_ of socked footsteps wandered across her floor, and she sat up on the unfolded futon, her gaze trailing his way. Hide’s warm smiled returned her small one as he handed her a gold rimmed ceramic mug. She nodded in thanks, suddenly shrouded in the bittersweet coffee scent as his arm nestled round her shoulders.

Touka gnawed at her bottom lip, bringing the scalding rim to the raw skin. “Yeah,” her absentminded murmur mingled into the steam of her hot drink, staring at the imitation fireplace before them. “Almost time for auditions, again.” She sighed, rolling her ankles as they dangled off the side of her black futon. The auditions for the company’s largest production were always at the first of the year. Those who wanted to audition would do so, while the others got a month's break. Touka mentally shuffled through the dancers and their ranks, trying to fit who would be best in what positions. As desperate as she was to play the lead for the Nutcracker, Clara, in her heart she knew that ballet was half skill and half aesthetics. She was simply too short to be anything other than a background angel or one of the Mouse King’s army. It was impossible to think about auditions without disappointment tainting her thoughts, but that was nothing new. Touka dipped her tongue in her drink, the heat lapping at the sore spot on the tip of her tongue. Withdrawing from the mug, Touka pressed her throbbing tongue to the roof of her mouth. Auditions would always be a bitter topic for her until she accomplished her goal, so she would just have to snag the role. It couldn't hurt to try.

“Maybe you should forget that, this year.”

“W- _what?”_ Shoulders rigid, Touka jerked away from her friend’s embrace. She could barely believe him. He’d been with her from the start of her new journey; if anyone knew how badly she wanted this position, it was Hideyoshi Nagachika.  “You jerk,” she snapped, curled her knees to her chest. “I’m not just going to give up on my dream because-”

“Woah, woah woah,” Hide’s cheerful smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m not saying you should give up, Touka.” He patted the top of her knee, hand sliding along the back of her leg until his fingers traced her ankle. “But,” his soft brown eyes were like those of puppies, making him infuriatingly impossible to stay upset with. “It's just that I saw a poster for Swan Lake this fall last time I brought you lunch.” He grinned. “I’m positive you’d be perfect for the lead!”

Touka sighed, allowing herself to enjoy his warm comfort for a moment longer before folding into a lotus position. _Swan Lake, huh? Was Hide serious?_ The boy didn’t know the first thing about ballet. He was a breakdancer, after all; part of a group who rewarded people for their originality and eccentricity. He and his crew were constantly traveling around, performing in flashy concerts for American celebrities, rewarded for straying from the norm. Ballet was just the opposite. As a ballerina, the girl couldn’t help the feeling of daunting pressure of strict tradition racking at the depth of her mind. Already, she was inches behind. The girls at the company followed unspoken guidelines; if she wanted to be at the top, she would have to abide by the uppity caliber. 

“You mean as the Odette?” Touka tilted her head just enough for long bangs to sift cascade before her view of the boy. There, if she just looked at him through the jagged windows of disobedient hair, she could remember that there were parts of Hide that she couldn't see entirely. She would never know his world for everything it truly was, like he couldn't see hers. Pleased at her little analogy, she continued with clearer vision. “Swans are long and graceful and impeccably perfect.” She chuckled in spite of herself. “The only thing I have in common with a white swan is my pale complexion.”

Hide laughed, pulled her closer again so they sat face to face. “Well,” he pressed a simple kiss atop her shiny locks. “Maybe that's enough.”

Touka smiled, peering up and catching the benevolent glint in his eye. He’d always been so kindhearted towards her, despite their situation. Tilting her chin up, she caught his bottom lip in a gentle pull, and he returned the favor simply.

They were best friends. They kissed, sometimes, but never anything deeper. They cuddled and snuggled and cared for each other, but none held the passion of burning romance. It was Hide's nature; his gentle, intimate touches had always been innocent; they weren’t meant to lead to anything more. He’d made that clear from the start; _"I dunno, I just like having physical contact. It makes me feel closer to my friends. And you, Touka, are my very close friend."_ The girl had smiled brightly at that, the pink dusting her cheeks evaporating. She was more than okay with his affection; it reminded her that at the end of the day, she was just a stressed college student with an overflowingly full time job, not just her student ID number nor a ballet dancing robot that her professors and instructors seemed to see her as. Every moment she spent with Hide was such a genuine feeling that rested in the back of her mind, seeping into her thoughts and granting her the purest of peace.

Beside, they were both waiting for someone else, each holding out to for their old friend. 

But that little detail didn’t affect their friendship and Touka was positive that it never would.

So when Hide kissed her and told her to do whatever made her happy, like a good friend, Touka took his advice.

 


End file.
